


Responsibility

by distractionpie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Family, Gen, s2 e10, s2 e9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:32:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractionpie/pseuds/distractionpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragging Scott's mom and his dad into danger was never something Stiles wanted, and leading Matt to killing those cops was a horrible mistake. Stiles needs to be better if he wants to stop further atrocities but he doesn't know how.</p><p>Sheriff Stilinski is always worried about his son, lately he's been more worried than usual and now he's being given a reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Responsibility

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably going to be jossed right away which is why I wanted to get it out before 2x11. I'm not 100% sure how I feel about this because it was a little rushed and also my first fic for this fandom so I'm still a little wary of how I write them but I REALLY REALLY REALLY wish there was more Stilinski bonding fics and as I can't seem to find that many I thought I'd write one of my own. Also, Sheriff Stilinski really needs a cannon first name so I can stop trying to come up with awkward guesses.
> 
> WARNINGS: Substance abuse, reference to drug overdose, induced vomiting, if any of these are likely to cause you harm then please think twice about reading, if anybody spots anything else in here they think requires a warning then please let me know.

He doesn't really expect them to let him go at the hospital, not given that he was still under the influence of the kanima's benefit when they brought him in, but the walls are closing in on him and they won't let him see his dad, won't even tell him where his dad is, and in the chaos of six dead bodies, of somebody opening fire on the police station, of the biggest single incident to have happened in Beacon Hills since, well probably since the Hale fire, it's easy enough to slip the I.V out of his arm, to toss away the clammy hospital gown and tug on his jeans and shirt, and normally Stiles isn't very good at being unobtrusive but right now he doesn't feel much like himself and so nobody looks twice at him as he makes his way out of the lobby and starts the walk home. It's not far from the hospital to his house, three miles give or take the fact that for once he feels no inclination to shortcut through the edges of the woods, but that's enough time for him to regret not grabbing his jacket, for the cold to sink into his bones and make him as numb as the paralysis did and so when he finally makes it through the front door, having pulled the key from his pocket (because his father was the Sheriff and had strong opinions on the naivete of those who left a spare key out where anyone could find it) with fumbling fingers and taking three tries to jam it into the lock. There's a bottle of whiskey in the cabinet and Stiles remembers how he didn't feel the cold, that night under the stars after the attack on the school, the night Peter Hale burned those men alive, and he needs that warmth so he twists the cap with his teeth and takes a long gulp, and then another, and another, and even though he wants to choke he just keeps swallowing until the burn is strong enough that he finally stops shaking.

So much went wrong tonight and he's fairly sure it's just beginning. The Argents shouldn't have been there, must know something they shouldn't and he's fairly sure Scott's mom saw something too. If Matt's been arrested, has Matt been arrested, or did he get away? If Matt's been arrested that's only going to make him worse, Stiles is sure he could find a way to control the kanima from prison, and if he hasn't that means that Matt's at large and more dangerous than ever now that he's got no reason to hide. Five innocent people died tonight and Matt's body count can't be allowed to get any higher. They need to stop him, like they weren't able to stop him tonight, but Stiles's head is spinning with worry for his father, for what he suspects is about to go down between Scott and his mother, for the general population of Beacon Hills and he can't think!

He remembers being nine and his mind bouncing, spinning, whirring like crazy before the doctors finally gave up on behavioral therapy, on special ed, on mild relaxants, and dosed him up with Adderall. Adderall made everything sharper, faster, cleaner. His Adderall prescription that he collected last week and is still sitting innocuously on his desk just waiting to be needed. If there were ever a time he needed to think better it's this.

He staggers upstairs and locks onto the clear plastic container immediately, shaking two of the wonderful white capsules out into his palm, he pauses then, and shakes out another two, because more Adderall means more focus means better so he slams his hand to his mouth and chokes, like he did with Matt's foot to the bottom of his throat and - oh look, he's got a bottle in his hand to chase them down with, tipping his head back until he can breathe. They should never have brought Scott's mom into it. They should never have brought his dad into it either. They are people who shouldn't be mixed up in this mess, blameless innocent people who have been hurt because of this. They could have snuck into the police station, he's done it before, and yeah, okay, the last two times he had help and Derek was busy with his pack tonight (and hey, shit, had Derek abandoned his pack on the full moon, what if they got out, were people dying right now because of three newly turned werewolves running around Beacon Hills driven mad by the moon - Derek would call if there were happening right, would know that Stiles was useful enough to be able to help with that?) but they could have pulled it off except for that it would have taken more time, would have allowed Matt more time to kill, but Matt still managed to kill, probably managed to kill more than he would have if they'd just waited.

This wasn't helping.

Dwelling on how badly he had fucked up tonight wasn't going to help anybody, he need to solve this.

He poured more pills into his hand.

*

Former Sheriff William Stilinski was furious. He would probably apologize later, because academically he knew that yelling at the nurses wasn't helping anybody, but there was really no other way he knew how to respond to the fact that the hospital had apparently misplaced his son.

The doctors were trying to calm him down, talking about his concussion and the fact that the police wanted to speak with him and he wished that he could still say, "I am the police," and demand that the people around him prioritize.

"Stilinski?"

He looked up, calming slightly at the sight of the man standing the doorway. "Marshall." He'd worked with Marshall James Rotham before and he'd respected the man for his common sense and reasonable behavior.

"I came down to take your statement about what happened tonight but..." Rotham frowned. "Is there a reason you're terrifying your nurses?"

Bill took a deep breath. "Apparently while I was unconscious nobody has been keeping track of the whereabouts of my son."

Rotham frowned, "Stiles? Surely he'd be at h... oh Bill, no, they said the gunman shot a boy, tell me...?"

Bill shook his head. "No, that was Scott McCall, they said the shot only clipped him and he'll be fine. But Stiles was... James I understand that you need to take a statement..."

"But there's enough evidence to go on that I think it can wait until the morning. You're a reliable enough cop not to loose track of the details between now and then."

"Was," Bill corrected but Rotham shook his head.

"Once a cop, always a cop Bill, you know that. C'mon, lets get you checked out of here and I'll drive you back to your place. I'm sure your boy just decided to head home, yeah."

*

The upstairs lights were shining through the curtains when they pulled up outside the house.

"See, kid probably just didn't want to be in the hospital anymore," Rotham said knowingly, "So how about you go in there and stop having your overprotective parental freakout and I'll be back to talk to both of you in the morning."

Bill nodded, adding a thank you as he climbed out of the car. All things considered he didn't think he was being particularly over the top to be concerned when his sixteen year old son vanished from the hospital only hours after being held hostage by a teenage murderer, even if Stiles had just headed home. The kid had seen a lot over the years and had a disarmingly high tolerance for violence and gore but if Bill was shaken by the nights events he had no doubt that their effects on his son must be far more severe.

His suspicions were confirmed when he spotted the open cabinet. He wasn't proud of his own habit of drinking away the stress, always far to aware of the slippery slope that lead to alcoholism and bad life choices, but the thought that Stiles might have attempted to copy him by drinking away his problems was worrying. Bill had yet to meet a sixteen year old kid with the ability to tell when they'd had enough.

"Stiles?" he called, as he walked up the stairs, "Kiddo, you in your room?"

He knocked on the door, once, twice, and waited. And waited. And then decided that all things considered his son's privacy wasn't his first priority right now.

He'd feared Stiles shaken and tipsy, feared him defensive or in denial.

He'd never expected the pills scattering the floor or the broken bottle on the carpet and nothing in the world could have prepared him for the blank look in his son's bloodshot eyes.

"WHAT THE HELL STILES?"

It's out of his mouth before he can even think about, because of all of the things he'd expected his son to be hiding from him this isn't it. Not drugs. But Stiles flinches away from him and sobs and then all Bill can think is overdoses and side effects and the reasons why this sort of thing is illegal as he hauls his shaking son to his feet and drags the boy into the bathroom.

Forcing two fingers down his son's throat is something that he never wanted to have to do, but he doesn't want to drag his son back to the hospital if he can help it and he's taking the fact the boy is conscious as a good sign and Stiles dry heaves a few times before it's coming up, nothing but partially dissolved pills and bile and the reek of alcohol.

He repeats the process until the pills stop coming up but Stiles keeps heaving, doubled over the toilet with tears streaking his face and Bill wonders if his son even realizes what's happening.

"Stiles?"

"I'm sorry," the boy chokes and Bill can't help but fall silent, because he doesn't need an apology from his son but it'd be nice to know what it is Stiles feels apologetic for. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just... I just wanted to... I didn't mean to get them killed. Oh god... I thought we could stop Matt but we just led him there and... Jackson. He couldn't have done it if it weren't for the ka.... he wouldn't have even known about that stuff if it weren't for Scott and I was the one who dragged Scott into it and then..." Stiles wheezed, "Oh god Peter. If Scott hadn't been he wouldn't have been... It was all me. The... the bus driver and those two guys that got burned alive in the woods, and that mechanic, I... I keep killing all these people because I'm stupid."

"Stiles..."

"I killed them like I... like I... like mom..."

Bill gasped, reaching for his son but Stiles pushed him away, crawling backwards across the bathroom floor.

"It was right... and the party. I killed her... I killed her like I keep killing them and like I'm killing you. Dad, please.... I..."

"Stiles.... Stiles! What party? What are you talking about? You didn't-"

His son cut him off. "I did! Stupid... stupid... stupid hyperactive bastard who keeps ruining peoples lives because I can't... I can't... I tried taking more Adderall," he said, gesturing wildly at the vomit filled toilet, "I want to be better. I want to stop with... I dragged everybody into this but I didn't mean too, I promise. But now Lydia is loosing it and Jackson's got so many things wrong I don't know where to start and people keep dying and you're going to die and I'm going to be... It's my fault, why can't they just..."

"Stiles, no."

This time he didn't let Stiles pull away from him when he reached out. This time he dragged his son towards him and wrapped his arms around him, a proper hug like they hadn't had in years since Stiles had developed the habit of trying to thrown his own arm over Bill's shoulders even though he wasn't tall enough to do it without making everything awkward.

"Stiles, buddy, no. No. Whatever it is, whatever is happening here, it's not your fault. All those people, the murders, you didn't do them. They were Kate Argent and they were Matt. Whatever makes you think you're to blame, because you didn't figure it out fast enough, or you got other people involved, you're wrong. It's not your job to catch these people or to stop them-"

"And now it's not yours either because I-!"

"Shhh... Stiles, it's not your job. You've been so helpful, I know you want to try and fix all these things, but they aren't always yours to fix. You can't... you can't take care of everyone."

"But I have to, or..."

"Or nothing. Stiles, you're sixteen. You're supposed to be worrying about school and lacrosse and girls... or boys, if you meant what you said at the club. I'm not... Stiles, I'm not going to die. I don't know where you've got this idea that you're killing me, or you're to blame for what happened to your mom, and we're going to talk about that later, but you're not. I'm supposed to be looking out for you, not the other way around, and we both know that isn't always how it works but you come first okay. If you're worried, if you're scared, if you're in trouble or you need help with something, you come to me and I'll get it fixed for you. You don't have to protect me from stuff kiddo, that's my job. I've got you okay. I'm here and I'll be here whenever you need me because you're my son and I love you and sometimes I'm not the greatest dad in the world, I know, but you... you shouldn't ever feel like I'm not gonna be looking out for you. I don't know what's going on with you right now, but I promise I'm gonna make it better."

Bill Stilinski isn't sure how he got here, cradling his sobbing, shaking, sixteen year old son in his arms on the floor of the vomit and alcohol scented bathroom, or why his son is shouldering such terrible guilt, such an awful sense of responsibility that he never asked for, is far too young to deserve, or how to get rid of it; but he knows that from here on out Stiles isn't ever going to be allowed to feel like he has to deal with this alone again.


End file.
